8:00 PM, Beijing Time.
It was prime time for television dramas, but tonight, millions of young people across China were glued to their phone screens.
The news had spread like wildfire: Su Mang, the "disgraced" player who had just humiliated Erling Havard in the Premier League but was branded a "moral degenerate" by the CFA, was about to start a livestream on Douyin.
"He still has the face to stream? He's probably coming to beg for forgiveness!"
"Everyone get ready! As soon as he appears, spam the chat! Don't let him think we're easy to bully!"
Incited by paid internet water armies, countless netizens flooded the livestream room, fingers hovering over their keyboards, ready to launch a barrage of abuse.
However, the moment the screen lit up, everyone froze.
There was no tearful apology. No stubble of depression. No sad background music.
Su Mang sat in a chair against the backdrop of a floor-to-ceiling window, the glittering night view of Wolverhampton behind him. He wore a tight black training top that accentuated his powerful build. He held a glass of ice water, his expression cold and indifferent, looking at the camera lens as if observing a colony of ants.
The viewer count instantly broke 10 million.
The bullet comments (Danmu) were a thick wall of hate:
[Get out of Chinese football!]
[Violent thug!]
[Apologize to Captain Zhang Hao!]
Su Mang watched the scrolling insults. Instead of getting angry, a contemptuous smile played on his lips.
He set down his glass and held up three fingers to the camera.
"Tonight, I will only say three things."
"After I'm done, believe what you want. As for those trying to ban me…"
Su Mang's eyes sharpened, piercing through the screen and seemingly stabbing into the hearts of his enemies.
"Wash your necks and wait."
— THE FIRST TRUTH —
In a luxurious private club in Beijing, Zhang Hao and Director Li were watching the stream while sipping expensive Maotai liquor.
"Hmph, just bluffing," Zhang Hao sneered. "Director Li, I've arranged 5,000 bot accounts. The moment he opens his mouth, we'll drown him in insults until he has a mental breakdown!"
Director Li swirled his wine, his fleshy face trembling. "Young people don't know the height of the sky. In China, we control the narrative."
…
On the screen, Su Mang slowly lowered one finger.
"First: Regarding the assault."
Su Mang's voice was deep and resonant.
"Yes. Two years ago in the cafeteria, I punched Zhang Hao. I broke his newly plastic-surgered nose."
The comments exploded: [He admitted it! Violent maniac!]
Su Mang sneered and continued.
"But do you know why?"
"That day, the National Youth Team had just lost a humiliating match. Everyone was reflecting in silence. But our Captain, Zhang Hao, threw his entire tray of nutritional squad meals into the trash because he said it 'tasted bad.'"
"He then demanded his special supply of premium sea cucumbers."
"He said: 'I can't run if I don't eat sea cucumber.'"
Su Mang pulled a crumpled, old photograph from his pocket. It was a picture he had secretly taken years ago—a bin full of wasted food, and Zhang Hao's table loaded with expensive delicacies.
"This is your National Team Captain. Eating the best sea cucumbers, using the most expensive hair gel, yet dodging the ball on the field like a spineless shrimp."
"I hit him because he insulted the food, and he insulted the jersey he was wearing!"
The frantic scrolling of the hate comments suddenly paused.
Then, the wind changed direction.
[WTF? Sea Cucumber Bro?]
[He wasted food after losing a game? And demanded sea cucumbers? If this is true, I'd punch him too!]
[That photo looks real… I recognize Zhang Hao's hairstyle!]
Inside the Beijing club, Zhang Hao's face turned sheet white. The wine glass slipped from his hand and shattered.
"How… how does he have a photo?! There was no one else there!"
Director Li's face darkened. "Shut up! Keep watching!"
— THE SECOND TRUTH —
Su Mang lowered a second finger.
"Second: Regarding the ban."
"The CFA statement claims I have 'low moral character.' Fine. Let's talk about morals."
Su Mang produced a small, black voice recorder. As an orphan growing up in a harsh system, he had learned early to protect himself.
He pressed play.
A fuzzy but unmistakable conversation filled the livestream room.
"Little Su, you want to make the final squad roster? Do you know the rules? Director Li has been tight on cash lately… It'll cost you at least 500,000. You won't pay? Then you can rot in the reserves!"
Although the voice was slightly distorted, anyone familiar with the inner circle recognized it immediately as the team leader.
Su Mang turned off the recorder, his eyes icy.
"I didn't have money. And I didn't want to pay. So, I was expelled."
"If refusing to pay a bribe is what you call 'low moral character,' then I would rather be a villain for the rest of my life."
The livestream room detonated.
Viewer count: 50 MILLION. The servers began to lag.
The abusive comments vanished, replaced by a tsunami of fury.
[CORRUPTION! Absolute corruption!]
[CFA, come out and explain! Who is that voice?!]
[We blamed Su Mang wrongly? He was forced out because he wouldn't pay a bribe?]
[No wonder our football is hopeless. The roots are rotten!]
In the Beijing club, Director Li was trembling violently, cold sweat soaking his shirt.
"Quick! Contact the platform! Shut down his stream! NOW!" he screamed hysterically.
But it was too late. The recording had been screen-recorded by millions and was already spreading across the internet at the speed of light.
— THE THIRD TRUTH —
Su Mang watched the scrolling comments of support. There was no joy on his face, only the cold satisfaction of vengeance.
He lowered his last finger.
"Third: Regarding the future."
Su Mang stood up and walked to the window, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the massive, illuminated Molineux Stadium in the distance.
"You want to ban me? You want to ruin my reputation?"
"Sorry. Your hands don't reach the Premier League."
"I will stay here. In a place where only ability matters. I will become the best in the world. I will hold the Ballon d'Or, stand at the summit, and watch you parasites rot in the mud."
"Zhang Hao… and Director Li…"
Su Mang looked directly into the lens and made a slow, deliberate throat-slitting gesture. It was a declaration of war against the old order.
"Our game has only just begun."
He cut the feed.
The screen went black.
But the earthquake in Chinese football had only just started.
[DING! CONGRATULATIONS!]
[Special Quest Complete: ENEMIES ON ALL SIDES (Counterattack)!]
[Public Opinion Reversal: 100%!]
[Panic Level of CFA Antagonists: MAX!]
[Reward Issued: S-Class Active Skill — "THE HERCULEAN CANNON" (Gabriel Batistuta Template)!]
[Skill Description: Grants the host terrifying leg strength. Shot velocity +50%. Adds 'Heavy Artillery' effect. Goalkeeper fumble rate increases to 90%!]
Su Mang put down his phone and took a deep breath of the damp English air.
Behind him, a pair of soft hands gently rested on his shoulders.
Li Qingxue, who had stood out of frame watching the entire broadcast, looked at him with eyes full of shock and complexity.
She had thought Su Mang was just a brute with a talent for violence. She hadn't realized he carried such a heavy past and such a calculating mind.
Looking at his broad, lonely back, for the first time, the Ice Queen felt a pang of… heartache.
"I'll cover the PR costs for tonight," Li Qingxue said softly, her usual corporate tone softening into something gentler.
"Also… that throat-slitting gesture? It was… quite handsome."
Su Mang took a sip of milk she handed him, turned around, and looked at the beautiful executive. He grinned, his sharp teeth showing.
"Of course. Look who I work for."